It's just another day
Heartbeat.
Rythmically, One, and a smaller, Two. Steadily, without end.
Warmth.
Content, steady, comforting after an exhausting night.
Skin, muscled body underneath.
The scent tells calmness, the heat means deep sleeping.
Arms around the hips, chin at the head. Holding, keeping safe.
Arthur Kirkland opened his eyes slowly and after blinking one or two, he spotted a pure white Fender Stratocaster at the opposite wall. His eyes closed again, being full of sense before he let his dreams come back once again as he turned his face towards the wall to listen to his lover's comforting heartbeat.
Silence filled the room and its perfectly soothing atmosphere. In the motionless space, Arthur let out a sigh and took the scent of the sleeping body in his nose, deep down into his mind where it had been absorbed and burnt into his memories. His hands were on Al's chest, and beside his ear, now caressing his silky golden hair.
His mind slipped back to his dreams and to sense the sunlight on his face from time to time, but he didn't care enough to turn away. If he would, Alfred would wake up. Their breaths were both quiet and small, and Arthur loved to listen to the constant rhythm of their hearts, like two instruments, beating together to a shared note.
Soon, the environment's noises reached his mind and Arthur heard the cars from the street, the birds on the tree in front of their flat. Oh, they were so annoying on Sundays, when he wanted to stay in bed till noon…
It was only Tuesday, yet… Alfred had a lesson from ten. God knows when this is, frankly. He himself just had to dress up and go to the office to check…
No… He didn't want to. He even let out a small moan, protesting against their duties.
What if they would stay in bed just for today. What if, both of them would call in sick? Would their bosses believe that it's coincidence?
The blanket's warmth started to be overwhelming, and Alfred's hold was still strong enough to keep him on his place. No. He won't move, until Al himself doesn't toss him off. Like a child, Arthur buried his face into the crook of Alfred's neck, closed his eyes and pretended to forget his own thoughts.
Alfred's breathing was always a motion, which calmed Arthur to the deepest pits of his mind. He often thought about it as a drug to his unconscious; now again, just listening to the other's body and feeling his stomach slowly move up and down beneath him gave him reassurance and tranquilized him to the point, that Arthur forced himself to stay awake.
If he would fall asleep now, both of them would be late. It was nice to play with the thought of that… he imagined Alfred entering a classroom, and tell his students, excuse me for being late, my husband overslept, and therefore, me too.
Right… he had to wake him up…
He nuzzled a bit beside Al's neck, before he gave a long kiss on his skin, feeling the sleepy warmth under his lips, until Al frowned and made a groan. He never liked to wake up, but when his mind noticed Arthur's close presence, he always smiled and held him closer than he already was.
This time, he hugged his hips and caressed through his back, then his sides and his butts, just as if he was making sure, Arthur doesn't lack anything. He still had his arms, his thighs (those British legs, he loved them, to taste, to lick, to grasp, to bite both of them), his neck (he loved the scent of Arthur's neck… even in his interview, he noted it… his favorite scent was the scent of Arthur Kirkland's neck… as a reward he got a light punch on his silly head, and then a whole night, full of heat and passion). He still had his hair, and the last, he had his lips, his nose and those cheeks with the almost invisible freckles.
It was just another day… waking up beside Alfred Jones…
It was just another day… waking up beside Arthur K. Jones.